


Racing with the rising tide

by theonsfavouritetoy



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Friends to Lovers, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-28
Updated: 2017-11-28
Packaged: 2019-02-08 02:52:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,445
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12855165
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theonsfavouritetoy/pseuds/theonsfavouritetoy
Summary: In the morning Theon leaves. It's a practised exit. Running away from Robb is easy, he can do it with a wave and a smile.Finding his way back, however - retracing his steps... Now, that's the hard part.





	1. Robb

**Author's Note:**

> For anyone reading this for the first time:
> 
> I wrote this fic with a very dear friend who decided to leave AO3. She did the Theon chapter, I the Robb one. So, more than half of the credits for this go to her.

The door fell shut two hours ago but Robb is still staring at it.

Theon has left, with a halfhearted wave and a careless smile. He didn't seem perturbed in the slightest and Robb wonders if it's only his world that has been unhinged last night.

Last night. The smell of cigarettes still clings to the linens. Usually, Robb can't stand it when Theon smokes inside - but yesterday he just didn't have the heart to scold him for it.

Last night. Robb thinks he should find a special name for it, maybe like the title of some FRIENDS episode.

_The one where Theon came over already drunk._

No, too generic.

_The one where Theon was upset about something and wouldn't talk because, quote, You wouldn't understand, Stark._

Too long, not special enough.

_The one where Robb Stark kissed his best friend and said best friend kissed him back._

There. That's pretty much on point. That's pretty much all he can think about.

That, and how Theon fell asleep in his arms, in the middle of whatever it was that they were doing.

_The one where Robb Stark wasn't good enough._

Good enough for what? Robb gets up, fiddles with the coffeemaker. He can't think. For some very weird reason he's more worried about how his best friend fell asleep when they were kissing than the fact itself.

 _Fuck_ , Robb thinks. _I've kissed my best friend. I've had my hand on his... How could he fall asleep, bloody hell? Okay. Focus._

Where had this come from? Robb had honestly never thought of Theon that way, cross his heart and hope to die. Never.

Alright, he'd always been aware that Theon is a handsome guy, with the dark hair falling into his eyes, and how he always strokes it back in that careless move. These dark eyes, their colour impossible to describe.

Oh. Somehow, Robb realises, he's always watched Theon closely. That warm smile, which he usually reserves for Robb. These long, elegant fingers holding those damn cigarettes, and how he'll always swagger around like he owns the place... Oh. Ohohoh.

And the brittleness beneath his indifferent face, that softer side that not many people get to know... Robb knows it. Knows him. Has known him forever, it seems. So what changed? When did it change?

Robb sits down. Maybe... maybe nothing has changed, really. Maybe it was always there and he just didn't realise it. Until now. Fuck.

What's he supposed to do now? Tell him? After Theon fucking fell asleep on him? Robb groans, carding his hands through his hair, then looks at his watch.

It's 2pm. Somehow, he's spent the whole morning going over this in his head. He's not even hungry or anything. Just confused and... Maybe in...

In over his head, at the very least.

He should just tell him. What's the worst that could happen? A tiny, worried voice in his head says, _Theon could laugh. He could tell you he doesn't feel the same. It could make things awkward. You could lose your best friend._

And then there's this other tiny voice that taunts him, the one that says, _He could also just start snoring while you're putting your feelings out there, because apparently you're the most boring person he's ever been with, and Theon really has a lot to compare you to._

Better say nothing and act like Theon did. Just pretend it didn't happen. Theon wasn't sad, Robb didn't tug him close to his chest, he didn't lose his fingers in Theon's hair, didn't lean in to -

It's no use. It did happen, and Robb doesn't ever want to forget it. Even if it seems it wasn't as memorable for Theon. And there's that one hopeful thought - before Theon fell asleep, he didn't push Robb away.

He kissed him back. It might even have been Theon who started it - it's hard to tell, in hindsight. But Theon had wrapped his arms around Robb's shoulders, and he'd made that soft little noise, not quite a moan but still... it sends chills down Robb's spine whenever he thinks of it.

And Robb's hands had wandered to the small of Theon's back, and he'd pressed him tighter against his chest. He'd laid him down and Theon's eyes were closed, their mockery extinguished, so that Robb had felt emboldened enough to reach down...

Then he'd noticed that Theon was asleep, with the ghost of an amused smile still playing upon his lips.

Robb hadn't slept a wink, too mortified with the situation, too preoccupied with watching Theon. The rise and fall of his chest, the peaceful expression on his face.

Robb knows Theon's face better than his own. Still, last night he'd looked at it like he'd never seen it before. The shadows his lashes cast on his cheekbones. The relaxed curve of his mouth, all the earlier bitterness gone.

For a moment Robb allows himself to dream. He imagines Theon's frown, imagines to be able to just kiss it away, to make him smile when he's awake as he did in his sleep. The image causes something warm and fuzzy to unfurl in Robb's stomach.

He can nearly feel Theon's absence. It's been nagging at him ever since Theon walked out in the morning. It's like Theon was Robb's not-so-metaphorical ball and chain, and suddenly it's been yanked off his foot, and for some confusing reason, he misses the weight. How grounding it could be.

Robb knows he's an idiot. It's not like Theon has walked out forever or anything of the sort. In all likelihood, he'll drop by tomorrow after work and raid Robb's fridge and make him watch some ridiculously boring documentary about sharks or world religions.

Robb's thoughts speed ahead again. If things were different... maybe Theon would come home to Robb making his favourite dish, they would eat it on the couch and then they would make out, or just... elbow each other and fiddle with each other's hands, which isn't strictly speaking _holding hands_ , since this isn't an action that Robb can comfortably associate with Theon Greyjoy, or himself, for that matter. And then the dishes would drop forgotten to the floor, and they'd sink further into the couch. Falling asleep, maybe. Eventually.

 _At least the last part has actually come true_ , Robb thinks grumpily. But of course it'd be something completely different. Robb would try to wake Theon, this wouldn't work and he'd have to drag Theon to bed and undo the laces of his stupid boots, and help him get rid of his dark jumper, the hem dragging up Theon's t-shirt and baring his ribs...

Okay. Enough is enough. There's a slim chance that this could actually happen, and Robb has to take it. He jumps up, rips his jacket and his keys from their hooks and opens the door.

And there he his, his hand raised as if he was just about to knock. Robb's heartbeat trips, then takes off, like a bloody helicopter in his chest. They stare at each other, and Robb opens his mouth.

"Theon."

 


	2. Theon

Theon had left almost on tiptoe, a practised exit. Except it was Robb, and so it hadn’t worked. He’d been about halfway to the door when Robb stirred and rose onto his elbow - the same elbow that Theon had spent an inordinate amount of time kissing the previous night - and he’d said…

“Whendumblgone”, or something like that. What he’d probably meant in his sleepy state was, “Where do you think you’re going?”

Theon had smiled and waved. He’d waited until he was outside to breathe out in relief.

The thing is, he’d never had any intention of spending the night.

Particularly not _in Robb’s bed._

It had started, as it always did, with a quiet, stilted fight. Theon’s father knew how to communicate his disdain simply a short-lived glance - a disgusted curl of the lips. Theon hadn’t taken this treatment in silence. It wasn’t his style. Most of the time, he answered anger or antipathy with mockery. When it came to his father, he did it with a sharp smile, which didn’t do much to conceal his desire to please.

“What is it, this time?” He’d asked. “My clothes? The fact that I was here on time instead of… what? Alarmingly early? Fashionably late?”

“The clothes are a good place to start,” his father had sneered. “You look like a cheap whore.”

Theon held back the first thing that sprung to his lips - _You would know, you dirty old man._

“Last time, you had something to say about my jeans,” he noted. “I’m starting to think there’s nothing I can wear that you’ll be satisfied with.”

“You can dress however you like. It won’t hide what you are.”

“A whore?” Theon said, with an artificial smile. 

“A weakling,” his father answered.

Theon had nothing to reply to that, and so he’d downed his beer, and left.

There’d been enough beers after that that it hadn’t seemed all that absurd, when he showed up at Robb’s, to behave as was expected of him. Balon Greyjoy thought he looked like a whore? Then he’d play at being one. Stick it to the old man, or something like that - alcohol tends to make for twisted feats of logic.

Except it was Robb. He couldn’t very well tell Robb to treat him like a whore.

First of all, Robb would have laughed. And second…

Theon doesn’t want to consider what might have happened. What did happen is already far too much to unpack on two hours’ sleep and with a raging hangover.

 _What’s wrong?_ Robb had asked, like it was written on Theon’s face.

_You wouldn’t understand, Stark._

He'd spent an hour or two chain-smoking in Robb’s room, while Robb finished some half-assed essay. Robb at the desk and Theon on the bed, long legs extended, using Robb’s dinner plate as an ashtray.

_I’m bored._

_Read something. You do know how to read, don’t you?_

An involuntary crackle of laughter on Theon’s part - it was often one of two things with Robb’s insults, they either made him laugh in delight or they completely missed their mark - and then he was pulling Robb towards the bed, unless Robb had moved first, and the cigarette lay forgotten in the plate of ashes and then they were kissing - or Theon was kissing Robb, lonely in the act until Robb finally started to kiss him back, eager hands scrambling to find purchase on Theon’s back - on his neck and in his hair.

So it had all been a result of boredom and being pissed at his father, which was generally why Theon did most things.

But it went against his other great principle in life, which was, to keep Robb by his side.

It’s the only thing he can think about, now that he’s run off and that he can consider the consequences of his actions at length.

It’d been a rule from the start, as soon as he met Robb, some six or seven years ago. _Don’t ever give him a reason to doubt that he made the right choice, being your friend._

Showing up drunk and angry and making out with Robb for the better part of the night sounds like a good counter-example of that rule.

But Robb hadn’t shoved him away. Robb hadn’t kicked him out of his bed and for a few moments of wild-hearted drunkenness, Theon had allowed himself to be unrepentant.

Because the truth he’s been hiding from Robb (as well as from himself, maybe) is that he’d been wanting this for a while, now, though he couldn’t say what started it. A gradual awareness of the weight of Robb in his life, a weight he wants to be able to grasp with both hands instead of reducing it to some sort of platonic status quo. Or maybe it’d been brutal. A split-second glimpse of Robb’s wet mouth as he licked beer off his lips, and that was it, Theon was a goner, he’d lost his best friend to a sudden belated surge of teenage hormones.

It’s only when he’s on his third coffee that it finally hits him. He made out with Robb because he was drunk and sad and resentful - and he made out with Robb because he wanted to, because Robb was pushing back against him like it was all a game, his strength against Theon’s, with more muscle but less wiry trickery, and Robb’s breath kept getting caught in his throat and every few seconds he had to come up for air like Theon was trying to drown him. Because he’d forgotten to breathe, maybe. Because they'd both forgotten to breathe.

So those two things aren’t necessarily mutually exclusive, the anger and the want, two sides of the same coin or maybe the same side, with the image blurred and illegible.

The dregs of Theon's coffee aren’t very legible, either, black swirl upon black swirl, but he thinks he sees something at the bottom of his mug anyways. It could just be his own judgemental stare. He pulls himself up from the chair, hand absently reaching for his coat, and then he drags himself back to the flat, shoulders hunched like he’s forcing his way forwards against a very persistent wind.

In his mind the wind has his father’s face and his pale grey eyes. It takes some courage to walk against this spectre, not that his father will ever know about it, or value him the better for it.

And when he gets to the door, hand raised because he’s not one to have second thoughts, no matter how bad the decision, Robb opens before he’s even had the time to knock.

With a wide grin that looks about as relieved as Theon feels.

“Theon.”

Theon sniffs.

“Your room smells foul, Stark. Have you been smoking all night?”

Robb is laughing as he pulls him inside.

“I brought home the worst company. Turned the room into a chimney stack, his breath smelled like cold tobacco and he fell asleep before I could remove his trousers.”

“Disgraceful,” Theon snorts. He unlatches Robb’s hand from his collar to guide it downwards and finds it warm and unresisting, only twisting gently within his grasp so that Robb’s knuckles are stroking his palm. “Let’s remedy that, shall we?”

Theon’s not one to have second thoughts, and he’s not usually one to retrace his own steps, but there’s a case to be made about how he’ll always make exceptions for Robb - about how Robb is the exception to every rule.

It’s a truth Theon can live with. It might even be a truth worth living for.


End file.
